The Joys of OCD, Fake Lashes & Roasted Brussels Sprouts

I have a confession to make. I watch The Real Housewives of Just About Everywhere (except Potomac, because honestly, I have no idea where that is…and Dallas, because I can’t start any new series during baseball season). I realized I needed to come clean with this information after a conversation with Baltimore Orioles’ manager Buck Showalter last week. Yes, you read that right. The topic came up (yes, you read that right), and I denied ever watching the show.

Now instead of searching for the answer as to why I lied to Buck about watching the Real Housewives (which is a whole other blog post), I instead went digging deep within myself as to why I actually choose to spend my spare time watching such a useless show. It didn’t take me long to figure it out.

First off, it’s useless. It’s pointless. There is no thinking involved. The storylines are so ridiculous they are comical. After a long day of work, running around and being “mommied” to death by my kids, I welcome such useless, pointless, thoughtless things. I wish I could say I spent that time studying up on the policies and platforms of our presidential candidates. It is, after all, an election year. But let’s be real.

Perhaps more importantly, the Real Housewives make me feel like the most normal human being to ever walk this planet (or at least one of them). I’ve never flipped any tables or pulled out anyone’s weave, although it has crossed my mind a time or two ;). Don’t get me wrong—I’ve had more than my fair share of regretful, humiliating moments, I’ve just never invited television cameras to come along and document them (unless you count those slip ups during commercial breaks…see my first blog post for clarification).

My point is this—right or wrong (and I’m pretty sure it’s wrong)—I use these train wrecks to make myself feel a little less train wreck-y. Which brings me to the point of this blog. If you think you are a Type A, OCD-having, neurotic mess, let me return the favor, complete with pictures.

I am so Type A that I go room to room after the housekeeper leaves to put all of the shutters at the exact same angle and return all tabletop decor to it’s proper location.

I am so OCD that I have 8 email accounts, and I don’t go to sleep before that little red circle above the email icon is gone. In fact, I kind of hyperventilate when someone’s red circle has a number with a comma in it. I mean, what if there is something really important in one of those unread emails??? Who hasn’t read THOUSANDS of emails??? It stresses me out!!!

I am so neurotic that all of my husband’s shirts have to be facing the same direction (we share a closet)…and all must be on the thin, white, wire hangers. Except for the flannel shirts. Those are heavy and require a brown cardboard hanger. When the dry cleaning comes in, all the button downs are facing the wrong direction, so I fix them. Turn the hanger around and hang in accordance to color. And all is right with the world (or at least in my closet).

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My poor husband. In my defense, he knew exactly what he was getting into. You can’t hide this level of crazy.

But I can use my Type A-ness for good, too. And this is where I might be able to help the “normal” person. At the beginning of each month, I download all the pictures from my camera and my iPhone to my computer, then upload them to a Shutterfly gallery and send them out to immediate family members. It’s a good way to make sure none of those precious photos disappear and keep loved ones in the loop!

Now cue the OCD. I order every picture that I upload and put them in chronological order in a photo album labeled by year. I want my kids to be able to look through photo albums the way I did as a kid…and I’m nuts 😉

Every picture that we have in our possession is in one of these albums. Someday we'll get bored and look at all of them. Seriously.

Every picture that we have in our possession is in one of these albums. Someday we’ll get bored and look at all of them. Seriously.

Anyway, there is some normal in my crazy, so hopefully you can take something from this post. If not, there’s always the random thought and the recipe!

Random Thought

If you’re a woman and you want to change your life in a very superficial way, get eyelash extensions. I got my first set almost five years ago, and I’ve never looked back. They’re not cheap, and it’s a total luxury, but I would give up a lot of other things before I’d give up my lashes. I don’t look like I just woke up when I don’t have makeup on, and I don’t have to spend 10 minutes applying mascara when I do wear makeup. They make me feel girlie, and I’m not very girlie. Don’t judge.

Recipe

Courtesy of my sister, Sarah. I don’t have a picture of the finished product, but I do have a picture of the text message exchange between the two of us about the recipe. Listen people, I never claimed to be Martha Stewart. #blessmyheart

You say teaspoon, I say tablespoon...

You say teaspoon, I say tablespoon…

Roasted Brussels Sprouts

Ingredients:
-2-3 dozen Brussels sprouts
-Olive oil
-Salt
-Pepper
-Balsamic vinegar
-Honey

Directions:
Cut Brussels sprouts in half (stems off). Drizzle with olive oil, salt, pepper. Roast at 425 degrees for 20 minutes, stirring occasionally.

Mix 1 tablespoon olive oil, 1 tablespoon balsamic vinegar, 1 teaspoon honey. Drizzle over roasted Brussels sprouts and serve!

Say Nice Things To People

Say nice things to people. That’s it. Just say nice things to people. If you think something positive about someone, say it out loud–to them. They can’t read your mind, so just tell them! Why wouldn’t you want to be the person who makes someone’s day? That’s a pretty great feeling–maybe even better than being on the receiving end of a good compliment. So just say it–even if you’re a bit envious of it–that’s ok. It’s human nature. If someone is good at something–even better than you at something–tell them, congratulate them. It will make you feel good. I promise. (Unless you’re really messed up, and then I can’t help you ;).

But seriously, I feel like so many times I’ve thought nice things about people to myself and haven’t put them into words, largely because I’m envious. It sounds trivial and childish–and it is–but it’s true. And I’m working on it.

Here’s a very superficial example. Anyone who knows me knows I have the worst hair in America–it’s ok, I’ve come to grips with it. Well, the first time I met Kelly Gavin (Rangers photographer extraordinaire) and her flowing locks in the Texas summer heat, I was flat out jealous. Here she was looking gorgeous in mid-July sporting her giant camera and flowing golden locks, and my tired-ass, fine, thin hair was stuck to my head. In the beginning I just wished for that head of hair, so maybe I wouldn’t get so many tweets or Facebook messages about how bad mine is (yes, that really happens), and then one day I decided to tell her how great I thought her hair was. She was genuinely flattered. And that made me happy. And I think I’ve told her that everyday I’ve seen her since then. And you know what? It makes me happy.

I will never have Kelly Gavin’s hair, and that’s ok. This isn’t really about hair. It’s just a story to communicate a point. There are always things you are going to want for in life that others have. The most important thing is to appreciate the value that others bring to the table–and more importantly–what you bring to the table.

So compliment others. And compliment yourself. We all deserve to hear nice things.

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Here’s a pic of the hair situation I’m talking about. I’m stuck in the middle of these two. This pic is of my dad and my daughter sitting together. I’m the tie that binds them. And I love it, bad hair and all.

during Game 3 of the ALDS between the Texas Rangers and the Toronto Blue Jays at Globe Life Park in Arlington, Texas on Sunday, October 11, 2015. (Louis DeLuca/The Dallas Morning News)

And here’s Goldie Locks herself, Kelly Gavin 🙂

And because I have OCD and feel the need to keep with my formula of how to make a killer blog (main subject + random thought + recipe), see below for the latter two.

Random thought. You’re in an airplane. 20,000 feet up. Traveling 400 mph. You jump and hang in the air for three seconds. Why don’t end up at the back of the plane???

Recipe. While you’re thinking about that, try out this gourmet recipe for turkey tacos (look out Martha Stewart 😉

Ingredients:

1 lb. ground turkey
1 jar of taco sauce
1 packet of taco seasoning
1 can of Rotel
1 can of black beans
1 package of quinoa in a bag (cooked)
Garlic salt
Pepper
Corn & flour tortillas
Avacodo
Shredded cheese

Directions:

Brown turkey. Mix in taco sauce, seasoning, Rotel, beans and cooked quinoa. Season with garlic salt and pepper. Top tacos with avocado and shredded cheese.

Grab a southwest salad in a bag, and you’re set.

 

Perfect Timing

Tomorrow is Opening Day. Thank goodness. It’s been a tough couple of weeks since my dad passed away unexpectedly. I’m not going to lie. It sucks. Bad. If you’ve ever lost someone close to you (and who hasn’t), you know just how bad it sucks.

But this is what I’ve learned over the last two weeks–I am damn lucky. I am surrounded by the most ridiculously caring and supportive people I could ever imagine. The things people have done and said to show my family love is beyond any amount of thank you’s I could ever say.

And this–by and large, people are kind. Just when you think the world is full of a bunch of a-holes, people go out and totally redeem themselves. I can’t tell you how much every text, call, comment and message meant. I read every one of them, and each brought me comfort.

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Tomorrow, it’s back to work. And it’s time.

It’s time for Elvis to make fun of my purse. It’s time for Rougie to hide said purse in some random location in the clubhouse and blame it on Elvis. It’s time for Adrian to avoid interviews with me at all cost. It’s time for Prince to sneak up on me and scream in my ear so loud I almost wet my pants.

It’s time. And I’m ready. And I’m thankful for this whirlwind known as baseball season.

And finally, in keeping with my unproven formula on how to make a killer blog (main subject + random thought + recipe = blog), I offer up the remaining two elements below:

Random thought. I transferred my dad’s email to my phone shortly after he passed away, to make sure all of his business dealings were addressed. Apparently my dad was highly interested in the relationship status of Gwen Stefani and Blake Shelton, because he receives no less than 10 emails per day pertaining to the latest news involving the celebrity couple. I guess he took his love of The Voice seriously.

Recipe. For two years of high school, it was just me and my dad at home. About once a week, I would attempt to cook for the two of us, so we didn’t have to hit up Furr’s or Burger King again. Chicken teriyaki was my go-to and my dad’s favorite. Don’t clown. I was 16. And it really is pretty good.

Ingredients:

  • 4 chicken breasts
  • 1 large can of sliced pineapple
  • Teriyaki sauce
  • Garlic salt
  • Pepper

Directions:

Season chicken breasts with garlic salt, pepper and teriyaki sauce. Place in a 15″x9″ casserole dish. Pour juice from pineapple into the dish. Place pineapple slices on top of and surrounding the chicken. Douce with teriyaki sauce. Cover with foil. Cook at 375 degrees for 35 minutes. Grab a pre-made bagged salad and some Minute Rice and you’re good to go 😉

 

About My Dad

It’s 12:45am on March 21st, and I am in absolute shock. My daddy—my rock for my 38 years on this planet—is gone from this earth. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to say. But I need to say something. Truth be told, this is the only time I could ever share this much about him without him disowning me. If social media has made its way up to heaven, I’m in big trouble.

To My Daddy—

Thank you for being my father, my friend, and my kids’ Poppy.

Thank you for teaching me how to love—hard and unconditionally.

Thank you for teaching me how to work my ass off, own up to my mistakes, and dream big.

Thank you for teaching me the importance of a firm handshake.

Thank you for showing me compassion and instilling in me the importance of showing compassion toward others.

Thank you for telling me you loved me. My entire life. At 8, 18, 28, 38…those words, put together, coming out of your mouth, meant more to me than you will ever know.

Thank you for teaching me how to make a damn good list. #OCD

Thank you for sneaking me ice when the doctors said I couldn’t have any after 34 hours of labor.

Thank you for constantly doing for others, and not expecting a single thing in return. I’ve never seen someone so uncomfortable on the receiving end of appreciation.

Thank you for loving animals—alot of animals—like, a ridiculous amount of animals.

Thank you for being the softest giant to ever walk this planet.

Thank you for being an ornery SOB. I like to think—even as a woman—I’m following in your footsteps everyday in that regard.

I pray that I will make you proud in the days and years to come.

I love you.

Emily

I have received countless calls and messages in the short time since my father passed away, and you know what’s cool? I’ve heard them all before. What people have said about my dad in death are the same things they said when he was alive. In my estimation, that means you’ve lived a damn good life.

If you had the pleasure of knowing Don Jones, you know exactly what I’m talking about.

Well done, Poppa. I am so proud to be your daughter.

Poppy & Hattie

Poppy, DeDe & Henry

1995

Selling, Cussing & Protein Balls

So my reason for starting a blog is two-fold—I’ve always thought it was important for our brand (Posh Play) to have a voice, and talking is one of my strong suits (attempted humor). But perhaps more importantly, this is an effort to avoid asking my doctor to prescribe me Xanex. I’m kidding…kind of. The last couple of nights I have laid in bed—in the wee hours of the morning—tossing and turning…and writing this blog in my head.

I know, I’m weird. I have been blessed (insert sarcasm) with the awesome combo of severe ADHD (self diagnosed) and OCD (totally obvious), so I have a hard time sitting still. And my mind has a hard time resting. There are a lot of random thoughts and conversations going on in this little head of mine, so in an effort to clear the air up there, here goes.

Who am I? That’s a loaded question. My husband says I try to be too many things, and he’s probably right. But here’s the deal—I want to make the most of my time and opportunities. My career in television has taught me how important that is. So right now, my plate is really full, but that’s cool. I like it that way.

Here’s a little conversation I’ve had with myself—and a few of my close friends—lately, about selling. Now let’s be real, I sell a lot of stuff, and I get made fun of a lot for it. But here’s the deal, we’re all selling something. If it’s not a product or a service, you’re selling yourself and how you want people to perceive you, by the links you share, the pictures you post, or the comments you “like”. All of those things are your sales pitch to the people who “follow” you.

I’m sure people get tired of my Posh Play/iSantaCam/Core Elements/Do It For Durrett/Rodan+Fields posts on social media…I get it. But you know what? I’m not exactly all in on what you ate for breakfast, lunch and dinner or what you thought of the presidential debate (gag), but if I follow you, it’s because I’m interested in you—not everything you’re interested in, but you. All I have to do is scroll on by. It’s that simple.

With that being said, I truly believe in all the things I’m selling, including myself (can’t believe I just typed that…super cheesy, but oh well). I am such an s-show sometimes, but I’m ok with that, because I’m an s-show who has good intentions and tries really hard. That doesn’t always translate to the best result, but all I can do is keep trying.

Totally random revelation—and it won’t be a revelation to anyone who knows me personally. I say things at times that would make a sailor blush. Not on TV and not in front of my kids, but pretty much everywhere else. I wish I could blame it on spending years in locker rooms and clubhouses, but this one is absolutely on me (although that probably didn’t help ;).

In another one of those late night conversations to myself, I was questioning why I cuss, probably because I feel guilty about it. And this is what I came up with—it’s never (ok, hardly ever) mean, it’s just expressive. I just feel like my point is so much more clear when I can throw in a well-timed f-bomb! Clearly I’m not proud of this little character trait or I would’ve actually typed the word out 😉

So basically when I was writing this entry in my head a couple of nights ago, that was pretty much it. But then I thought to myself—maybe I should throw in a recipe. Seriously, I thought that. What’s wrong with me??? Who writes a blog with the most random thoughts and then throws in a recipe for protein balls at the end?

Me.

No clue how the next entry will go or if there will even be one, but if you’ve made it this far, bless you. I hope you enjoy your balls.

SUPER EASY PROTEIN BALLS

1/2 jar of almond butter
1/3 cup of steel cut oats
1/3 cup of honey
1/3 cup of chocolate chips
*Combine all ingredients together in a bowl
*Roll into balls (hence the name Super Easy Protein Balls)
*Refrigerate

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